Winding Sands
by ausherlock
Summary: Sherlock gets a outrageous case about a rare, priceless fish that's been stolen. At first, he deems the case silly and refuses to help. Expect when he's called by the Yard and the same case he rejected had similarities with their crime scene. When clues and events surrounding the case start to turn strange, the outcome will be more than anyone could have expected. Magical RealismAU
1. Bored!

Imarsythia: Alright, this is a chapter fic that pretty much exclusive to here and AO3. Its the first chapter fic that I've set up. There are some other things in here that I think everyone will enjoy. There's no definite day of the week I'll have this updated but if you want to keep track with chapters and such, follow the Tumblr since lots of stuff about the story and its contents will be posted there.

* * *

Sherlock let out a sigh as he stared at the ceiling of his flat. He had already cataloged all the cracks and stains at least twice _(champagne stains from a wedding fifteen years ago and water leaks from a pipe_). There was absolutely nothing to do. No interesting cases, no puzzles, not even a serial killing! Did every criminal decide to take a vacation? He was almost hoping that Mycroft called so he could bother him about his weight. Lestrade probably wouldn't enjoy anymore pressing text either.

He already threatened to not call him into cases for the next two weeks if he texted again. Sadly, his website wasn't any better. The only things he kept getting was domestic cases and missing pets. That was just sickeningly boring. Disgusting even. Sherlock rolled onto his side and let out an annoyed huff. If a case didn't turn up soon, his brain would atrophy.

Committing his own murder was better than this. God, what he wouldn't do to have a cigarette just to break the boredom. He started to count the stitches in his Union Jack pillow just to give himself something to do. A buzzing sound quickly got Sherlock's attention and cutting through the haze of boredom. For a minute, Sherlock though that he was hearing things. The buzzing sound continued and was followed by a small clacking sound. His mobile had fallen off the table from the minute vibrations.

He nearly leaped up with joy but settled with sitting up carefully. Everyone he knew texting was his preferred method communication. That only left that someone found his website and had a case. Maybe a god murder wasn't out of the question. Grabbing his mobile off the floor, Sherlock scanned the number and realized it was a East Sussex area code.

"Sherlock Holmes. Don't be boring."he said, answering the call.

"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad you answered. I found your website and well, I urgently need your expertise on a troubling problem." a man said with deep relief on the other side of the line.

Sherlock could hear the desperation in the man's voice. He obviously called after calming himself down from a near panic attack. Not that he cared that much, of course. Chances were that a friend or relative got killed and it would a very intricate case full of lovely puzzles.

"Depending on the problem, I'll offer my services. I hope for your sake, it's interesting."he said as he stood.

He stepped over the coffee table and walked over to his desk. He shoved a stack of papers to the floor until he managed to unearth his laptop. He flipped it opened and started to check the internet for crimes happening in Sussex. His potential client made a spluttering sound that was partly defensive and bordering on slight outrage.

"I assure you it is, Mr. Holmes. My case is like no other case you ever had. You see, my priceless...fish has been stolen."he answered.

Sherlock waited for his searches to go through and couldn't help but be intrigued by the claim. That was always the answer someone gave him when they had a case. It's so important, please help me. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Yet, it was the first thing that could be potentially interesting all week. If the man wanted his help, he would have to come to Baker Street.

"I see. I won't take the case until I have the whole story. Come to London, the address is 221B Baker Street. I do look forward to your case, Mr.-?"

"How did you-never mind. Murray. Bill Murray. I can be in London tomorrow morning. Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes."

"Don't thank me yet. Your case might not be worth the trouble."

Sherlock ended the call and threw his mobile onto the sofa. Dealing with the general public was still a hindrance. They was all idiots but he couldn't risk losing a potential thrilling case. He needed someone to do all the tedious work for him. The taking calls, dealing with the idiots and having some kind of medical background would be bonus. He really needed some kind of assistant.


	2. A New Case

Sherlock pretended to tidy up the living room as he waited for Murray to arrive. Mrs. Hudson kept telling him about the papers accumulating around the room in stacks. Personally, he didn't see that it was out of hand. There wasn't anymore space in the bookcase. It would be ever so tedious to rearrange his whole filing system. If anything, Mrs. Hudson should have been proud that he wasn't the average idiot reading nonsense. All his papers were case notes, scientific journals and whatever he was interested in at the moment. Not useless tabloid magazines or trashy novels that everyone loved to talk about.

"Sherlock! You have a client! Sending him up to you, dear." Mrs. Hudson shouted from downstairs.

Stopping his pacing, Sherlock waited impatiently with his hands clasped behind him. It was already too much waiting and he needed a good case. He also needed a bit of money to pay rent. Mycroft was still holding his trust fund hostage. The fat git was also out the question when it came to cases. The cases were always boring. Lestrade was still ignoring him about cases too.

He had even stopped answering his texts which was more annoying than frustrating. He took a seat in his leather armchair and picked at the nicotine patch on the inside of his arm. Boredom and impatience was eating away inside him. God, what was it like to be the average person and go through like without anything relevant going on? At hearing the last of footsteps come to a stop, Sherlock lifted his gaze to the doorway. Finally.

"Mr. Murray. Come in. Take a seat." Sherlock said, motioning to the empty armchair across from him.

He watched Bill hesitate in the doorway, taking in the state of his flat. He quickly snapped out of it and walked to the offered seat Sherlock let him and decided to make some deductions about his potential client.

Straight posture indicating military (_completed last tour about six months ago_). Still trying to get used to civilian life if checking the exits of his flat were any indications. Faded grey shirt, well worn leather jacket (_saltwater stains from a river or ocean_), high end jeans with bit of sand and mud in the cuffs (_East Sussex variety so living near the ocean_), boots _[military grade]_ also had traces of mud on the soles (_has to walk through the beach to get to home_). About average height, broad shoulders, muscular frame with a narrow waist (_what Western culture would consider a male to be attractive_). Tan above the wrist (_served in hot climate, most likely Afghanistan_) with slight callouses along his hands. Indicating works with medical instruments. Not a doctor since none indicate work with anything surgical. Most likely RAMC nurse but got a job in a hospital when arriving home.

In all, someone that was confident in his abilities and work. He liked to splurge on what he enjoyed but was still practical when it came to money. Military and all that. Interesting. Sherlock couldn't help but take in some of the more boring details like eye color (_green_), facial structure (_average with a cleft in the chin_), and hair cut and color (_jet black and "trendy" if the product had anything to say_).

"Explain the case. I don't have all day."

Bill looked at him in surprise and looked a bit startled. He leaned back in the armchair to gather his thoughts, rubbing his arm in nervousness. He barely acknowledge that Sherlock was waiting his every move. He took a calming breath and sent Sherlock a weak smile.

"Ah. Right. I'm really grateful you're taking the time to hear me out. This whole thing has a bit wound up. Frazzled, really." Bill said.

He quickly cut himself of at the annoyed glare Sherlock through his way. Right. Don't waste his time or be 'boring'.

"Let me start from the beginning. I came home from work a few nights ago and found my house broken in. It threw me off since my neighbors are mostly elderly and a few couples with small children. When I checked inside, four men in black were rushing out through the back door. They had destroyed the room I kept my fish in but other than that, left everything else untouched. They got in a unmarked van before I could get to them. I checked to see what they had stolen and realized they had taken my fr-I mean fish. I wanted to go to the police first but I have a long standing...issue with them. I'm sure it was a professional job."

Bill went silent after and worried with the zipper on his jacket. His whole body language screamed worry and nervousness. Sherlock really wondered who cared for pets so much. Sentiment. Bill wasn't asking his help for a lost investment. He was careful with money and wouldn't waste it things he didn't need. His high end clothing was proof of that. Why would anyone got through so much trouble to steal a fish? Ransom? Fame? Collections? Frowning, Sherlock steeped his hands under his chin.

"What's so special about this fish? You said rare but you could be lying. What species is it? How much is worth? Is it endangered? Was a ransom left? I need more data."Sherlock said.

If he was lucky, it could turn out to be a underground smuggling ring. That would make his whole month. Then again, it could be an very irate neighbor playing a trick. He watched Bill nod slowly and his nervous demeanor skyrocketed fir a second. It quickly disappeared as Bill ran fingers through his hair, making it messier than before. He looked to be debating on telling Sherlock something. If he kept data from him, the case was going to be off. The solider in the man showed as he crossed his legs and stared at the fireplace. He sighed as he took a digital camera out his pants pocket. He fiddled with it silently while collecting his thoughts.

"You look like you're a man of science, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please. What gave it away? My website? Or my lab?"

Bill couldn't help but chuckle at the thick sarcasm in the detective's voice. Of course. Just like he expected him to be. His tone came off just like it did on his website. No doubt that the man across from him was brilliant and in a class off his own. Still, he was trying to be serious and the explanation was going to get even more complicated.

"Someone with methods like yours are deeply rooted in science and logic. Hell, I'm a former RAMC nurse and still work in the medical field and it's amazing. It can't be explained by science or medicine. Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural? Magic? Myths?"he asked seriously.

Sherlock's frown deepened at the sudden questions. What did this have to do with the case? He knew about various religions, myths, magic, and illogical things as superstitions. Most things could be easily explained with science. He knew not everything couldn't be explained by science but it could be as easily worked out by someone who used their brain. He always saw such this as fodder for the mindless populace, needing something to fall back on in their lives. Always needing something to look up and explain the unknown. The real question was, where was this going?

"I believe that nothing is impossible, only improbable. As for things like faeries, magic and other nonsense, I have a hard time believing still exist or ever existed at all."he explained.

Bill looked back at Sherlock and let out a small chuckle. He had a feeling that would be the answer. He had been the same way not only two years ago. Turning his attention to the camera, he turned it on and look for the pictures he needed. He had to show Sherlock what he was talking about. When he found the set he was looking for, he handed it to the detective for him to see.


	3. Impossiblites

Imarsythia: A few people have asked me before about how John's appearance is since the description could cause some confusion so there's a link on the profile to how he looks.

* * *

Sherlock started to thumb through the pictures with widening eyes. This couldn't be real. Impossible. Was he being tricked?

"I used to think like that before Afghanistan. The locals always talk about myths all the time and pass it on to their kids. Stories about things that hide in the desert sands and in the mountains. There are even stories about things that live in the waters. There was this one story a woman told me about certain creatures living in the sands. Called them sandfolk. She told me that they're related to mermaids except far more dangerous and live on land. Hell, they apparently even live with humans in remote places all over Asia and Africa. I...wasn't telling the whole truth to you. My friend in those pictures is John. He's a sandperson. Sandman, really. He was kidnapped and not without a struggle. And he's not really a fish. More like part reptile, part fish." Bill explained.

Sherlock was distantly aware of Bill's voice but he too busy trying to wrap his mind around the pictures. He stopped on the photo of 'John' playing in the sand. It had to be a trick. He could see the tanned body of a man, just like any other human. Tawny blond hair (_messy and wet from the surf_), shaggy bangs held out his face by a crab claw (_how did that even work?_). There was a tangled mess of scar tissue from a gun but he couldn't determine how 'John' received it. Dark blue eyes stared curiously at the camera but was set off by a bright smile that showed a set of sharp fangs.

But that was the only human part. Where there were supposed to be legs was a scaly, translucent tail that was an array of colors (_brown and gold? Needed more data_). Jellyfish tentacles (_smoky brown tendrils? appendages?_) flared out at his side, busy weaving through the sand. The body of the jellyfish seemed to rest slightly above 'John's' head (_dark red membrane and translucent body like the tail. A hat? Accessory? Body part?_). Sherlock flicked through more pictures and saw the body was connected by two tendrils coming from John's spine. They seemed to be just as movable as the ones on his tail. There were two suspicious tattoos (_too blurry to see what it is_) on the base of the creature's spine.

He couldn't put his head around it. It had to be a fake. A really good fake at that. There was no possible way such a creature could exist. Sherlock Holmes was not to be made a fool off. The pictures could be easily taken after someone was donned with makeup and costumes. Their were various computer programs that could give him such a image.

"Impossible. Don't play games with me. I have no need for people in costumes and makeup. Goodbye, Mr. Murray."he snapped, throwing the camera in Bill's lap.

Bill grabbed the camera and sputtered in shock. It wasn't a trick. Sherlock was the last person he could get help from. If not, he would never ever see John again. He would gone forever.

"Sherlock! It's no trick and before you say it, I'm perfectly sane. I need your help. You have to believe me." he protested as he stood out his seat.

Sherlock glared at him and rose out his seat to meet him. He walked forward and loomed slightly over Bill. Not that it was much as the man was half a head shorted than he was. Bill didn't back down and stood his ground, looking right back at Sherlock. His body language suggested that he wasn't lying and was desperate for help. Still, he could be a good liar.

"Things like that are just a hoax and computer graphics. Your case is boring anyway. I won't take it. Now, leave my flat. If you have an actual case, then consider contacting me again. Preferably with a murder. Missing imaginary creatures are no business of mine."he snapped.

Bill frowned and clenched his fists at Sherlock's words. Who the hell did he think he was? Gritting his teeth to restrain from punching the detective, he pocketed his camera. He backed away and walked to the door. He didn't need to be insulted. He'd find another way to get John.

"I'll be in London for the next two weeks if you change your mind. Good day, Mr. Holmes."Bill said as he walked out the door.

Sherlock watched him go with a frown. Disappointing. He was almost sure the case was going to be interesting. Unfortunately, those pictures had to come into light. He didn't like being lied to. Bill was probably trying to use his services for his own gain. That, or he had some issues from the war he needed to work out.

Sighing, he walked to the sofa and picked up his violin. He flopped down and plucked out random notes. His mood was steadily declining. No, he wasn't sulking over some case that wouldn't have been worth it. He wasn't as stupid as the rest of the population. He was not so easily swayed by pictures with discernible to no true origin. Myths and nonsense like that were ways for the rest of the populace to explain things they couldn't understand. People never think or observe.

More notes came from the violin as he laminated on the creeping boredom. It was going to be a horrible week. The world was conspiring against him. As if unbidden, Sherlock found himself remembering those blue eyes from the pictures. There wasn't much he could deduce from them at first look. But, the '**sandman**' had an intelligence in that gaze that intrigued him. That creature defined the very laws of nature. Reptiles were cold blooded and lived in warm temperatures. Sea life in general needed water to survive and jellyfish especially lived in the deeper parts of the ocean. Too many contradictions. No creature like that would be able to live.

Sherlock shook his head and worked his fingers faster over his instrument. He was** not** thinking about anything to do with that stupid case. It would have been boring anyway. Another case would come in soon. Lestrade would stop ignoring him and call him for help. There wasn't a week that went by that he called him for help on a murder case. Only thing he had to do was try and wait to be called.


	4. Too Strange

Sherlock found himself looking at silvers of skin patches to entertain himself. It was interesting to see the effect of the compromised cells through defrosting. He thought it would relevant to a case one day. Maybe. If someone threw a body in a freezer in the near future. He used his free hand to write down notes, looking at his mobile when it vibrated. Not that he would be getting his hopes up this time. Especially after being let down at a prospective case yesterday. After his mobile vibrated once more, Sherlock picked it up. Of course, it was Lestrade. Took the man three days but he finally texted him.

**Need your help with new robbery case.** **GL**

Sherlock frowned at the mobile and leaned back in his chair. Robberies were boring. They were usually committed by simple headed criminals who couldn't think for themselves. It would take him no time to solve. He wanted a challenge. Something that got his blood pumping and his mind racing. Lestrade had to text him because something was strange.

**Sounds boring. Victim was murdered? SH**

**No. Claims to have had some exotic pet nabbed. Also can't figure out how suspects escaped. GL**

Sherlock read the text twice and tilted his head. It was strange and almost sounded like-no. For once, he could admit he was thinking too much into something for his own liking. The case could be potentially interesting.

**Where is crime scene? SH**

**Hackney. Block of flats near the tube stop. Will be on the tenth floor. GL**

Sherlock could feel himself buzzing with the familiar excitement of a new case. He might not have a murder but at least there was a potential puzzle to solve. Getting up, he grabbed his coat and scarf off the back of the armchair. He made sure he had his mobile as he called out to Mrs. Hudson that he was going out. He ran out the door and to the curb, hailing a cab.

"Hackney. " Sherlock said to the cabbie as he got in.

He hoped that Lestrade wasn't lying to him. It had better be that he needed help. God only knows how he gets work done with Anderson on the team. That man was a certified idiot. It took a while for him to get to the crime scene with traffic in the way. At seeing the flashing lights of police vehicles as they drove up the street, Sherlock told the cabbie to stop. He threw some notes at the cabbie as he jumped out, walking to the crime scene.

One of the officers spotted him and lifted the tape for him to pass under. Sherlock was more than glad to have no annoyances on getting on the crime scene. There were no signs of either Donovan or Anderson outside. They probably were inside the crime scene and putting out terrible theories. He made his way into the building and took the lift to the tenth floor. He was already thinking of how the robbers got inside. There was a buzz in system but the lock to open the door was picked (_professional by the lack of scratches_). He stepped out the lift as the doors opened and took in the hallway. There were no definite clues as to the robbers getting out this way. He saw Lestrade waiting down the hall in front of the flat and made his way to him. Not acknowledging the greeting thrown his way, Sherlock went straight to the door.

It was virtually untouched except for the cut out part of where the lock and doorknob should have been (_used a saw or some kind of blade_). Sherlock did a few more inspections before looking into the flat itself. He saw Donovan sitting with a woman on the sofa in the living room and down the hall to the left, a bedroom door left opened. The living room was cleaned and it was almost like no one had invaded. Strange.

"Sherlock. You have to work with me on this one and I need all the information you get. The robbers destroyed that kitchen. No keeping anything from me." Lestrade said seriously, not moving until Sherlock nodded in agreement.

The DI led Sherlock to the kitchen and waved a hand to him to do what he needed him to do. Drawers were pulled out and thrown across the room, cabinets were ripped off or dangling on their hinges and cutlery was scattered across the floor. Whatever dishes the victim had owned were broken and all over every surface. The single window in the kitchen was beyond repair. The pane was warped and covered in claw like gouges that ran deep into the sheet rock of the wall. Glass littered the edges of the broken pane but none was on the inside of the flat.

What the hell could have done so much damage? Sherlock frowned as he saw Anderson standing among the wreckage bagging what he thought was evidence. Didn't Lestrade know he hated Anderson to be on his crime scene? He really needed a assistant. The idiot was already ruining what evidence might have been left.

"What are you doing here, freak? This is a robbery. Not one of your murder fantasies."Anderson sneered from his kneeling position.

"Oh Anderson. I should always be called when your're here mucking up the scene. I see your wife made up with you last night. You and Donovan on the outs?" Sherlock said snidely as he strode past him to the window.

He didn't bother to look back as Anderson sputtered angrily before stomping out the kitchen. Sherlock had more than enough work to do. He touched the gouges at the bottom of the destroyed pane, trying to conclude how they could have been made. It wasn't small enough for a grappling hook and much too big for an animal short of being out a zoo. It didn't make sense. He walked to the cabinets and looked for anything out the ordinary. In one of the cabinets above the sink, there was small bundle of cloths that almost looked like a nest. It was covered in black hairs (_fur?_). He saw that someone had disturbed the nest and it was already tagged as evidence. Pieces were starting to come together but nothing make sense as of yet.

"I need to talk to the victim." Sherlock said as he stepped away from the cabinet.

Lestrade looked up from his spot on the wall and shook his head. There was no way Sherlock was getting near her. He didn't know how to talk to people. The last thing he needed was the detective to do was make the poor woman cry. Or, try to kill the lanky git and make it pure hell all around. Unfortunately, he knew Sherlock would find a way to talk to her anyway and he really needed some kind of information. The media was starting to pick up on the case.

"Fine. You better not upset her, Sherlock. I swear I'll keep you off a crime scene for a week. Her name is Lucy Markov and she might be a little batty." Lestrade said, praying to whatever god that everything went smoothly.

"Batty? Why? You said it was only a pet stolen which is pretty obvious from the disturbed nest in the cabinet above the sink."

"I'm saying she's batty because apparently the pet stolen was a brownie. A legend from a story. A myth. That's why."

No. That was too much of a coincident. Way too much of one. He went into the living room and was glad that Donovan was out the way. He didn't need any useless distractions. Taking in her appearance (_late twenties, brunette and blue eyes, thick glasses, timid_) and book editor (_ink stains on casted hand [left]_). He could see on the sling her arm was in had the same black hairs that were in the kitchen.

"Ms. Markov. I'm going to ask you some questions, if that's alright. Can you tell me what happened? Don't worry. I'll listen to everything you have to say." Sherlock said, putting on a warm smile.

Sherlock knew he had to delicate if he wanted to get some questions answered. He didn't want Lestrade getting on his back and he needed crime scenes. Plus, he had to have more data for the case. If his developing theory turned out to be correct, he was going to be more than ecstatic and annoyed for himself. Ms. Markov looked at Sherlock hesitantly and bit her lip. She was stalling on what to tell him.

"I-I came in to find my door like that and heard those men in my kitchen. They destroyed everything! There was four of them in black parading around and there everything like it was trash. I didn't understand why they were there! I must've made a noise because I caught their attention and couldn't fight back much because...well," She raised her arm in the sling with a sheepish smile.

"They came to kidnap Galen. He's my brownie. My sweet little Galen. Those brutes took him right out his bed and threw him a a cage. They had some kind of beast...a griffin, I think. That monster made all those claw marks perching in my window. They hit me with a gun and knocked me out and the next thing I know they're gone. I know I sounds insane but I'm telling the truth an-and God knows what those monsters want with my brownie. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to him!"

On those last words, Ms. Markov broke down in tears and made Sherlock very uncomfortable. He quickly got up before she could look to him for comfort. He could tell she wasn't lying and it bothered him. It was the same description Bill gave him for the men. It was down to the scenario how the men worked. The room where the pet was being help was ripped apart and the men took a quick escape.

It was a professional job but it didn't meant that it was the same men. Sherlock could feel he was on the verge of something big but their were too many pieces missing. He would have to call Bill and take his case again. There were too many connections between them. Lestrade walked over to him and gave a disapproving look at the crying woman. What? He didn't do a thing.

"This isn't the first case you've had like this in the past. There are others like this but you've ignored them because of the insane claims of the said pets that the owners claimed to love. And each job looked professionally done and they knew exactly where to get their prize." Sherlock said calmly.

He was more than eager to break such a puzzle. Though, he had a feeling he would be doing heavy research on myths and legends. Lestrade glared at Sherlock, ready to accuse him of tampering with files again. The only thing was he knew that wasn't the case since Sherlock had been practically been begging for a case earlier in the week. The detective had that light in his eyes when the case was getting interesting to him. Pulling Sherlock out the apartment and to the side, Lestrade looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. It wasn't a secret by any means but the cases weren't his from the start.

"Okay, yes. There's been four other robberies like this over past year all over London. They got thrown out for the claims of damage that we obviously couldn't find. I just worked the last case like this. Gregson worked the other two and Dimmock had had the first."

Lestrade saw the expression on Sherlock's face and groaned. He was getting too old for this.

"Don't tell me. I got serial robbers on the loose? Robbery ring?"

Sherlock gave a vague smirk at Lestrade's words. It was somewhat amusing to see Lestrade so exasperated. He was impressed that he was actually formulating some decent theories. Even if they were partially wrong.

"On the contrary, I believe this is something very intricate but I don't have all the details yet. I'll be needing access to all those files immediately."

He needed all the facts from each case before making any theories. The ones he had floating around were worth thinking of. Also, he would have to be making a call to Bill. He still didn't believe in any of so called pets but the man was a technically a key part. He needed to get all the facts.


	5. Fustrations

Sherlock looked at his crime scene notes on the wall with a thoughtful frown. The files only help a tiny amount on clues and patterns. He still couldn't identify the robbers or the reason the robberies were being comitted. He was swimming in information and even the small bit of data could be revelant. The files weren't the only the things he had though. The internet and books on myths were also reviewed for assitance. Even with all the data with the cases, he hadn't texted Bill yet. There was still data that was uncovered (and hopefully useful).

He couldn't even call Lestrade with anything useful, not even to where the next robbery was going to be. Whoever was behind the whole operation was clever at leaving no trace. Growling in fustration, Sherlock folded himself in his armchair. He already had three patches on his arm and he wasn't stupid enough to put on a fourth one just yet. The clues weren't clicking right. Sherlock moved himself to the sofa and streched out over it, steepling his fingers together. He had to calm himself. What did he know so far?

The victims didn't have any connections other than the robberies (_done very professionally- forced enrtries varied with location but were very clean with irrevelant evidence left behind_). One room in each home was destroyed with purpose (_rooms held each 'pet' according to onwers but held no evidences of the captors. DNA from the 'pets' were still procesing in the labs_). Out of all four previous victims, only two had a physical picture of the creatures (_dismissed as fakes/photo manips by the police_). From the photos taken of the crime scenes, the larger pets (_a wyren and oliat, still had to do research of said creatures_) were the only ones to fight against capture.

Only one of the previous victims was able to give the same descriptions of the men to the police (_was put in the hosptial by robbers when walking in on said robbery like the recent case_). There were too many missing variables. What purpose were the creatures for? Were these the same men each time? How did they find the victims? Where did the onwers even find such creatures roaming around? It wasn't enough data. The only thing Sherlock was sure of was that the robberies weren't a small operation. Something big was on the horizion but for now it was lurking in the shadows.

He thought that studying the creatures would give him some kind of insight on the case but the stories were nonsense. Most were about morals, contradicted each other or started talking about symbolism and religion. Both of which wre immensly not helpful. He needed to find a historian or a crytozoologist for some kind a clarity. Sherlock needed someone to bounce ideas off of and while the skull was helpful, he needed another perpesctive. Closing his eyes, Sherlock started to make a list and map in his mind of the robberies and said creatures housed there.

**First Case** (Jan '10)

Micheal Sancon [Lives in Ingliston]

Owned a pisky

**Second Case** (April '10)

Anna Treford [Lives in Oxford]

Owned a wyren [Picture in file and signs of struggle in crime scene]

**Third Case** (May '10)

Rachel Underwood [Lives in Manchester] [Media started to take notice]

Onwed a nara [signs of a struggle in crime scene]

**Fourth Case** (Sept '10)

David Rumsford [Lives in Bristol] [Media ran with the story and starts following the investigations]

Owned an oliatu [Picture in file]

None of the people lived in the same cities and the robberies were spaced out by a number of months. The men had taken their time with the previous victims. Now, they've were closing up the gaps. He was still missing some data about their movements. Frowning, he added the two previous cases to the list:

**Lastest Case** (Oct 4/10)

Lucy Markov [Lives in Hackney]

Owned a brownie

**Private Case**

Bill Murray [Lives in East Sussex]

Owned John a sandman

Sherlock opened his eyes and grumbled, throwing his Union Jack pillow across the room and knocking the skull off the mantle. If he wanted to get more information, he needed to talk to an expert (if he could find one). Sherlock knew he needed to contact Bill as well. Once that was done, he'd be able to solve the case and give Lestrade the evidence he needed to solve the case. The DI would be able to appease the media since they were starting to cover the case for each piece of information that came out.

Idiots apparently ate up the idea of magic and imaginary creatures being real. Preventing themselves from being robbed was a second thought. It was just really sad. Sherlock grabbed his mobile and texted Lestrade to find anyone with an exotic pet in England. Sure, the man would gripe about it but the cases were spread out all over the place. The police forces outside the city would probably be more than willing to help his search. They should be good for something.

Grabbing is coat, Sherlock swanned off outside to go to Barts. He skipped the cab and decided to walk the way. Walking helped him think and the DNA samples from the crime scene should be processed by now. The walking motions would help him connect dots. Sherlock wasn't bothered by the looks he got while he talked to himself. He was used to the looks and the case was far more important. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he bumped into a passerby. He was about to berate then for breaking his thinking process. Sherlock when he realized it was the person he was looking for. Bill Murray.

Oh joy. The matter of calling him didn't need to be done after all. It took the man too long for Sherlock's liking to recognize him and very quick to not apologize for bumping into him.

"Mr. Murray. I would say its a pleasure but there are more important agendas at hand. I need to see your crime scene and more information about John. Another case like yours has occurred and I need data."he said.

Bill looked as Sherlock and let out a loud scoff. He steadied himself from the little bump. The detective had a lot of nerve after blowing him off a few days ago. He wanted to refuse but it he had meant it when Sherlock was the only one who could help. He had read the papers about the case like his and the past ones like it. Sherlock must be helping the Yard with the cases.

"God, your're a prick for blowing me off last time. But, I do need your help. If this means getting John back, I can sure as hell put up with you. Why do you want to know about John though? Thought you didn't believe me." he said, ignoring how Sherlock started to follow behind him.

It seems like the detective had made the decision to follow Bill to his next destination. Bill didn't mind since Sherlock was helping him after all. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the question and quickly came up with a lie.

"Relevant to the case. The larger creatures fought against their attackers before being captured. They left small traces of evidence at the scene that are being processed still. I still think your're lying but, the other cases are just as strange. Plus, your the only other person I can get a secondhand account from on the scene."

He really didn't know why he needed to know more about the sandman. For the past few days, Sherlock found himself thinking about those eyes and that scar. How did someone wound a creature of myth? Ugh. Those thought were silly and unneeded Sherlock was sure it was result of not yet deleted information that he could possibly use. He'd take care of those weird thoughts once he saw the crime scene in East Sussex.


End file.
